Making Observations
by levele3
Summary: It's 1895 and Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are in their fifth year of studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The two are quite different, but that doesn't stop them from being friends. Sherlock makes observations about his best mate while secretly attending a Masquerade.
1. Watching

**A/N: This is the usual, I own nothing. Something that started out as a one shot around last October that steadily grew. I have at least 3 chapters planed out, let me know what you think.**

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The best part about being at a Masquerade you told everyone you weren't going to was that nobody was looking for you because they didn't expect to see you there, Sherlock mused as he stalked the parameter of the Great Hall. He truly had had no intentions of attending the All Hallows Eve Masquerade but couldn't refuse when he realised what a most excellent opportunity it would be to deduce his fellow students. Rather than hiding who you were a costume choice could actually be fairly reveling about how one saw themselves. After making one full circuit of the large room Sherlock began again this time picking out people, it wasn't long before he spotted the easiest one of the lot.

Geoffrey Prewett sporting a red and gold _Pantalone_ mask and where Geoffrey was his twin wasn't too far. Sherlock spotted Ferdinand Prewett in another moment; he was dressed exactly like his brother only his colours were on reversed sides, carrying two goblets of warm apple and cinnamon cider over to his brother. The Gryffindor twins always had a trick up their, in this case, puffy sleeves and could usually be accounted as the source of laughter in a room. Sherlock knew John liked them and that was good enough for him. This would be their last year attending Hogwarts the Gryffindor Quidditch team would need to find a new Chaser and Keeper. It would be John's job as Captain to find adequate replacements.

Sherlock continued to let his eyes roam around the room they next landed on Eleanor and Everett Prince, the twin children of the Potions Master, he was related to them somehow a second cousin on his father's side or some such. Eleanor had been sorted into Ravenclaw but Everett was in Slytherin like his father had been. They were two years younger than Sherlock. All members of the Prince family were skilled potionteers and none had ever been refused the position of Potions Master if they choose to apply. Eleanor caught his eye for a brief moment before Sherlock looked away. Miss Prince had unsettling black eyes and she glared at anyone who seemed to be challenging her, she always suspected others of being up to something.

Next Sherlock saw Molly Hooper in robes of pale rose that matched her Butterfly mask, he was happy to see she was being danced elegantly around the room by a fellow Hufflepuff named Martin Crieff, her hooped skirts floating around her. Molly was a friend of John's and by proxy Sherlock's. Crieff was a Chaser and Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and would be joining fellow Hogwarts alumni Douglas Richardson, former Slytherin Captain and Seeker on the Caerphilly Catapults. The once rivals would have to put their differences aside and work together to form a great team. The Catapults were owned by the ridiculously wealthy Carolyn Knapp-Shappey and her half-wit son Arthur and it was considered a great team to begin ones professional Quidditch career with.

Certainly no one could miss Irene Adler in emerald green silk her _Colombina Stella_ in silver doing nothing at all to hide her unique features. She was idly fanning herself as several Slytherin suitors pursued her, including Oberon Flint, Malvolio Gaunt and Betelgeuse Malfoy, even from this distance Sherlock could see she was bored of the attention. An over eager first year, Arcturus Black dogged Malfoy's every step should the older boy need him to run a quick errand.

Finally Sherlock spotted the person he'd been looking for all night. Really he should have known. John's face was hidden beneath a _Medico della Peste_ and a long white silk cape covered his black suit, the hood pulled up to meet the top of the mask. The lining of the cloak was black velvet, Sherlock could just see it when he turned and the edges flipped out. John was dancing with Sarah or Mary, he didn't know which and didn't really care, she was smiling at something he'd said, or simply from the joy of being in his arms.

Sherlock remembered vividly how young an eleven year old John had looked standing in the doorway to his carriage compartment on the Hogwarts Express. His black trousers almost grey from wear and two inches too short in the leg. His books were worn in the spine suggesting they had a previous owner yet they were dusty so they hadn't been looked at in some time. The only thing new the boy owned was his wand which was still kept protectively in its box. It was easy for Sherlock to deduce that John was a half-blood his mother keeping her magical heritage from him and his father. John had smiled and confirmed it by showing Sherlock the neat scroll inside his books that proclaimed them the property of one Helen Peverell. Instead of being put-off by Sherlock's annoying habits John grew fond of him and when they were sorted into different houses it was John who reminded the pure-blood Sherlock that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor had been close friends before life changes separated them.

At fifteen John had grown into quite a handsome young man, some would say. He kept his flaxen hair close to his scalp and playing Quidditch had made him broader, well-toned. All traces of the gawky eleven-year-old having vanished through the years. Sherlock hoped the two would always be friends, that circumstances wouldn't separate them as it had their house founders.

Sherlock was dressed in all black in an attempt to blend in and make fleeting impressions, no one would remember a man who came all in black he had thought, so long as he kept to the shadows, but seeing all the bright colours of carnival Sherlock was beginning to second guess himself. Perhaps his raven costume would not protect him. This was reaffirmed as he noticed two pairs of piercing blue eyes land on him, Albus Dumbledore and his younger brother, Aberforth. Sherlock matched their gazes with one of his own until Albus looked away. The boy was only fourteen but managed to leave Sherlock feeling as though he had committed some felony simply by being. It didn't help that Dumbledore was a year younger than him and clearly a very bright student, out ranking Sherlock on nearly all of his tests. _Gryffindor's_ Sherlock thought exasperatedly. Dumbledore was outlandishly dressed in a feathered robe not unlike Sherlock's except his was made of bright gold and scarlet, and his beaked mask resembled that of a phoenix. He was most likely mad, why only last week John had told him how Albus had set fire to his bed curtains for no apparent reason.

Sherlock pulled away from his thoughts and turned his gaze back to John, a Gryffindor he'd much rather spend time contemplating. Sherlock had had no friends before he met John, only his elder brother Mycroft and pet raven Lucifer to keep him company, when he desired it, of course. John was easy to talk to, or not talk to, as his moods struck him but worst of all John made him laugh. He made Sherlock _feel_ joy enough to need to express it. Sherlock pulled out of his memories to find the song has changed and John was now dancing with Molly, it was a common curtsy, they were merely friends. Sherlock had it on good authority, from John himself, that he was not the one who captured Miss Hooper's attentions.

With some difficulty John maneuvered his head so he could speak in Molly's ear, whatever he said caused her to cover her mouth politely as she bubbled up with infectious joy. Sherlock could see the light in her eyes shine just a bit brighter. Perhaps John had said something to her about her admired one, or the fact that Mr. Crieff kept looking at them sternly. Jealousy is unbecoming Sherlock chided mentally not stopping to think he should heed his own advice. John always seemed to be spending time with one of two girls, when he wasn't with Sherlock of course. Sarah Sawyer the Hufflepuff and Mary Morstan the Gryffindor, secretly Sherlock seethed whenever John mentioned either of them.

Sherlock looked away again his eyes landing on Moriarty and Moran. James Moriarty was dressed in robes of long clean lines of white and black resembling that of a Magpie no doubt a reflection of his need to be noticed perhaps he expected people to salute him. If Moriarty's costume was demanding attention Moran's screamed for it his robes were positively royal looking as they bared the gold and black stripes of a tiger his face hidden under a matching mask. They made a strange pair Sherlock mused but then again so did he and John. Moriarty the Slytherin and Moran the Gryffindor there was rumors about the two school fellows, that their friendship ran deeper that was appropriate. Sherlock made a point to stop comparing him and John to the two and turned his head again.

Elizabeth Peverell, Albert Potter, Wesley, William, and Wilbur, Weasley, were all easy to spot, a closer group of people Sherlock had never seen, the three brothers sticking out easily in any crowd with their flaming red hair. Elizabeth and Albert were _the_ couple of the year, and all anyone seemed able to talk about. The five friends danced in a large circle that kept getting bigger as more and more people joined in, the Prewett twins, Molly Hooper, Martin Crieff, Eleanor Prince, belatedly Sherlock realized he'd lost sight of John in the growing mass of swirling people. He started to panic turning his beaked head this way and that looking for a solitary spot of white in the endless sea of turning colours.

Someone grabbed his hand and pulled him into the dance Sherlock tried to shake them loose but to no avail the stranger's grasp held. It was then Sherlock looked to his immediate right, the stranger who had grabbed his hand _was_ John! He and John were clasping hands the long white silky sleeve of John's robe brushed against his bare wrist, likewise his feathers were no doubt tickling the Death Doctor. Sherlock realized too late that he was still staring at John when the other boy turned to face him and their masks connected, both consisting of long beaked parts it was inevitable. That didn't stop John from smiling at him though, it was as if he knew, but no, that wasn't possible.

"Sorry" said John still smiling, "you looked lonely over by the wall there, I thought you might like to join in."

That was John though, it wasn't enough for him to befriend Sherlock once, he would do it over and over again. John could have pulled any wall-flower into the dance but he didn't, he had pulled Sherlock. Sherlock returned the smile naturally, almost forgetting he was supposed to be remaining anonymous. It was so easy to smile around John though. Sherlock squeezed John's hand a little tighter not wanting this dizzying moment to end, if John noticed he gave no sign.


	2. Listening

The night went on and on and at last the Witching Hour approached. Sherlock had managed to lose John in the commotion of the dance ending only to get tangled up in a conversation with Irene Adler.

"I thought you weren't coming" she'd hissed at him pulling him into a dark corner away from the crowd, John, and her unwanted admirers.

"How did you know?" he asked, rather than deny her claim he found it easier to just concede.

"Costumes, surprisingly enough, convey a great deal more than what they hide" she explained, repeating Sherlock's similar thoughts on the subject. He found it unnerving that the two of them should have such parallel thought patterns. Her own choice of mask did nothing to hide her identity, instead it did the opposite, showing off her face.

"Yes I see what you mean" he agreed, "but, how am I like a raven?" he queried.

She replied with a secrete smile, "because" she explained, "you are cunning like the raven and yet people fear you out of uncertainty. Are you devil sent?" she asked coyly not at all ashamed about saying such things.

Sherlock doesn't answer, Irene looks over his shoulder and Sherlock can see through his peripherals that her suitors are scouring the dance floor for her.

"Your flock seeks you, you should attended them" Sherlock dismisses her, and Irene gives a loathing scowl in response.

"Please", she hisses in return, "they're all so boring" before walking off to greet the three men who instantly gravitate towards her.

Sherlock is parched after the dance and brief conversation so moves toward the refreshment table to procure a goblet of cider.

The student populace had been given an extended curfew of 12:30 to accommodate any stragglers from the Masquerade which was scheduled to end at Midnight precisely.

As Sherlock retired to a dark corner far from the bulk of revelries he overheard a hushed argument.

"It's because of _him_ , isn't it" the voice hissed, male Sherlock categorized, and one he thought he knew.

"No, it's just-" a female voice protested.

"Please, Molly, please don't lie to me, you are already breaking my heart." The voice clicked, it belonged to Martin Crieff.

"It's not proper" Molly objected, stubborn as ever.

Sherlock turned and faced the corner of the room, blending in and virtually making himself invisible to the arguing couple. Obviously Molly's admired one was not Mr. Crieff either, who so pitifully vied for her affections.

"It is, I'm asking you to please allow me to formally court you, I'll accept your rejection, but you cannot seem to give me a straight answer either way." Crieff was pleading for his life, he clearly adored Molly and Sherlock had long suspected they would make a rather fine pair, why would she keep denying him? Who could Molly be so beholden to as to refuse Captain Crieff, a man who less than a year from now would be playing Quidditch professionally?

"He will never love you back, you must know that?" Crieff asked, not as unkind sounding as the words implied, in fact he sounded rather sympathetic.

"I, I know" Molly conceded through shallow breaths, "nevertheless we are friends and" Molly seems to run out of steam and instead collapses into sobs. She whispers something through the sobs, her hands obstructing her mouth so that Sherlock can hear none of it.

"Oh Molly, please don't cry, not for him" again the words are gentle, not cruel. He has finally figured out who Molly held so close to her heart and he is ashamed.

Molly was drawn to him for the same reason's he was drawn to John. He was different; unique to anybody else he'd ever met. John was everything Sherlock wasn't and they complimented each other nicely. Sherlock knew he was creeping down a dangerous thought path but he couldn't help it. He had never known what to call this feeling that sprung up when he thought of John, friendship was too mild, comrade too formal, but now he knew it was love. Sherlock Holmes was in love with John Watson, for a single perfect moment Sherlock was elated as his heart filled with joy at the notion. Then it burst like a rain cloud as Crieff's words came floating back to him, _"he will never love you back"_ John preferred the fairer sex, it was evident from his forays into courtship with Mary and Sarah, the girls were one and the same to Sherlock he never cared enough to be able to tell them apart.

"John! Oh John, you were right!" Molly's ecstatic voice calls across the hall and Sherlock stiffens his back at the sound of his friend being beckoned, even hearing John's name being shouted aloud brings him joy. He is sure a silly grin is plastered across his face, a grin that can only be seen by the wall.

"Molly" it's John's voice and he's quite close Sherlock notes, "what has you all in a dither?"

"Mr. Crieff, ah, that is Martin" she proceeds shyly, "has asked me if I would honor him by accepting his formal request to court him, and I have said yes." Molly has turned giddy in the excitement of the moment, and she expels squeals.

"Congratulations, that is fantastic" John is all sincerity and Sherlock can almost picture his beaming smile at being genuinely pleased for Molly.

"What about you?" Molly asks in turn, "have you decided?"

"Decided?" Crieff asks, "what about?" Sherlock doesn't need to turn around to know they are now holding hands, no doubt matching smiles grace their lips.

"John is supposed to decide between either continuing to court Miss Sawyer or Miss Morstan tonight, and not both" Molly admonishes, her voice turning to that of a mother scolding her young child.

"Ah, about that" John begins and is cut off again when Molly gives a warning, "John"

"I've decided on neither, actually" he states rather blandly, and even though Sherlock can't see him knows John is rubbing his neck. It is a tick he has, one of many and one that says he is lying.

Sherlock's heart beats in a rapid succession and he's afraid the others will hear it. Maybe it's not a complete lie, but it is not a full truth either.

"Oh John, they're both lovely girls" Molly coos, "and you still have to do Prefect rounds with Mary."

"That won't be a problem, she ah, she's actually the one who suggested maybe now wasn't a good time for us to continue our courtship, what with OWLs this year and such, very keen on studying she is." John sounds a little let down, but for a man who's had to break off not one, but two budding romances doesn't sound as nearly downhearted as he should.

"Well, I'm off to bed then" John says, rather loudly, in an obvious way.

" _Yes John, just tell the whole castle_ " Sherlock thinks.

"Goodnight John" Molly calls after him.

A great chiming sound rings out through the Great Hall and Sherlock realizes it is Midnight at last. His mind is a buzz with thoughts and knows sleep will elude him well into the early hours. There is only one place Sherlock can go when he's like this.


	3. Feeling

Sherlock makes his way out of the Great Hall, not down to the Slytherin dungeon Common Rooms but up to the seventh floor where a secret room can be reveled from a blank stretch of wall. Sherlock has to wait for the staircases to change twice and grows impatient. The crowd of students is thinning as they all head off in the direction of their warm and waiting beds. Sherlock straggles behind a group of Gryffindor's that include the Weasly's and Prewett's, for as long as he can before they turn off towards Gryffindor tower.

Barnabas the Barmy says nothing at Sherlock's silent approach; he is used to the late night visits of the insomniac student. Sherlock begins pacing in front of the portrait thinking of his parlor room. The door takes shape far too quickly but Sherlock needs the solace the room brings and is too thankful to stop to think about why it took such little effort to reveal the hidden room.

Sherlock stalks into the room as though he owns it and is half way through removing his mask when he clues in something's amiss. A fire is roaring in the usually empty white marble grate and a lone figure sits slouched on the plush sofa. John. Of course it's John.

"Watson?" Sherlock asks tentatively, just in case he is wrong, doffing the mask completely.

"Holmes?" The familiar rough voice responds. He is never wrong, and a pleased grin twists Sherlock's lip.

John has removed his mask as well but the fire cast an eerie glow on the silky material of John's white robe, making him appear ghost like.

Sherlock takes a few cautious steps into the room, "I thought you were going to _bed_?" Sherlock tries to keep his voice neutral but it comes out just a bit cheeky.

John stands up and turns to face him, his face is shadowed by the firelight and it unnerves Sherlock being unable to read it.

"And I thought _you_ weren't going to the masquerade?" John asks in a teasing tone.

Sherlock likens it to when John tires to engage a female in courtship rituals but it makes no sense when applied to him.

"Yes, how did you know?" Sherlock asks taking on an indifferent tone. He tries not to think about how warm his face is but chalks it up to the roaring blaze and not how John is still staring at him.

"I didn't know, I noticed" John says in a pretentious voice, throwing Sherlock's words from their first encounter back at him. "Who else would come dressed as a raven?" John asks as if the answer is obvious. His tone still light and teasing.

Sherlock is further confused by this but this time struggles for an adequate reply. In his absence of speech, John continues.

"I didn't know, at first," John pauses as if contemplating his next words and seems to confer with his shoes on the matter, "but then you smiled." John smiles up at him now the same as he did earlier and Sherlock provides his conditioned response, a smile, in return.

"Git" John says shaking his head affectionately.

"Clot" Sherlock responds, a little sternly.

They both wait a second too long before responding at the same time "berk!" which causes both young men to fall helplessly into a fit a giggles. Sherlock shakes his head to ground him, grown men did not shout offensive names at one another for amusement.

By chance they both look up at the same time and lock eyes and Sherlock had to swallow a lump in his throat. Grown men did not fall in love with each other. For the first time Sherlock doesn't fight what he's feeling and takes another step closer to John. He doesn't know how something that feels so natural is labeled wrong by society.

John looks up at him; John has always had to look up at him, except for that first year. They had been about the same height when they parted ways that June but when school started in fall Sherlock was almost a whole inch taller than John. John had grown in other ways becoming broader from his physical activities, something Sherlock had found himself thinking of more often the older they got.

"Are you ready for the Defence Against the Dark Arts mid-term tomorrow?" John asked, he was better at practical magic than Sherlock, it was a fair question.

"What do we have to do again?" Sherlock asked sounding bored, John took a step closer to him and his voice wavered.

"Successfully perform the Patronus Charm" John recites.

"It's not a fair test" Sherlock protests, raising an eyebrow, "not everyone is capable of performing it."

"You haven't been practicing have you" John scolds.

"I've been busy, how does it work again?" he queries.

"You just think of what makes you the most happy" John says, looking Sherlock right in the eye.

Sherlock scoffs, and turns his head, John's gaze far too intense.

"I hear this is the last year they are actually teaching it" John continues, crestfallen, "Besides, I need it to be able to qualify to become an Auror."

"Auror?" Sherlock's voice is sharp with genuine surprise as he turns back to look at John, "I thought you wanted to be a Healer? Or Muggle Healer, you hadn't really decided last time we spoke on the subject." Sherlock's voice evens after the initial outburst but inside he's an irrational mess. Being an Auror is a very dangerous job he wants John to be _safe_.

"I haven't really decided" John says not even flinching under Sherlock's gaze.

Something strikes Sherlock then, "you knew I was in the corner then, listening?" he asks, not wanting to be right.

"Yes" John admits.

"Did you? You planned this encounter?" Sherlock asks, knowing now he is right. Sherlock was the one to show John this room, told him about how to enter, and why he liked to come here.

"Yes" John says, unwavering in his truth telling.

In Sherlock's mind John is as truthful and loyal as any Hufflepuff, he is smarter than any Ravenclaw in the ways that really matter, John can be just as cunning as any of Sherlock's Slytherin peers, but what John does next is so brave and selfless it makes Sherlock finally see why John Watson was placed in Gryffindor.

John removes the space between them effortlessly catching the preoccupied Sherlock off-guard.

The kiss engulfs Sherlock like a raging inferno, he is warm, far too warm and all too soon John's lips are gone.

It takes his brain a minute to catch up having completely shut down the moment John Watson placed his lips to Sherlock's.

"What was that for?" Sherlock asks, not rudely just curious.

"I wanted to give you something to think about, for your exam tomorrow." John says giving Sherlock a sly smile.

Sherlock's heart is racing and he brings his fingers up to touch his lips not sure if what he just experienced actually happened. When his brain really starts working again he is sitting alone in front of the grate, where a blazing fire was before now only remained dull glowing embers. John had long since left hidden by his invisibility cloak. Sherlock doesn't make it back to his common room that night, he stays there in the room of requirement thinking what his best friend meant by kissing him.


End file.
